Handle With Care
by RubyFiamma
Summary: In which Yamamoto is obsessed with Gokudera's hands.


**[Pairing]** Yamamoto Takeshi/Gokudera Hayato

**[Rating]** R18

**[Warnings]** Non-explicit sex, hand and finger kink

**[Disclaimer]** Don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. All rights reserved Amano Akira.

**[Notes]** Gifted to the lovely Kat, my 8059 bff (totally) who's obsessed with 8059 just as much as I am. Otherwise known as tastewithouttalent here on FF, take a look at her works, she's amazing.

**Handle With Care**

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><p>Yamamoto, for as long as he can remember, has always had a thing for Gokudera's hands.<p>

He thinks it began the first time they met, except at that time he didn't know what it meant. His eyes were just automatically drawn to them. He thought it had something to do with Gokudera's rings; him being simple-minded, them being shiny things.

Gokudera's rings were always different, some just plain metal bands, some with intricate designs, some with black rubber laced around them. Others had skulls or crosses, some had stones and some even had spikes. He once saw Gokudera sport spiked brass knuckles but the school banned him from wearing them again because they were seen as a dangerous weapon.

He studied Gokudera's hands when they were close enough, when they sat in Tsuna's room doing homework and Gokudera's fingers would hold the pencil or pen almost elegantly, if Yamamoto had to put a word to it. His writing too, was beautiful; smooth curves to his cursive when doing his English work, soft and delicate strokes when writing hiragana, kanji and katakana, neat and enigmatic and facinating when writing G-script. He could write with both his right and with his left and Yamamoto was truly amazed, all the time when it came to Gokudera.

Then there was the way Gokudera handled his dynamite. He never knew that something that looked so beautiful could be so dangerous, which is perfectly how Yamamoto would describe the bomber in general. He would sometimes take a small and thin stick of dynamite no bigger than his thumb and move it in between each of his fingers like one would do a coin when he was thinking, staring into space absentmindedly and not at all focusing on his trick. He enticed Yamamoto in more ways than one also because between those fingers held the sticks of dynamite that he used to protect their friends, their family.

He thinks that he finally understood his fascination with Gokudera's hands when he accidentally walked in on Gokudera playing on the piano in the music room one night, late after school. By this point, Yamamoto already knows he feels something for Gokudera. He doesn't understand it, but everything about him monopolizes Yamamoto's attention. His hair Yamamoto wants to touch, his skin he wants to glide his fingertips across, those raw green eyes Yamamoto wants to have only on him; all the time and finally those hands... He can imagine vividly what they'd feel like sliding down his naked torso, the way Gokudera's fingers would curl tightly in his hair and how Gokudera's fingertips would taste with that subtle hint of nicotine. He knows he's drowning in Gokudera because he can't stop thinking about feeling those plush pale pink pushed up against his own, he can't stop thinking about the way Gokudera tastes and he's _obsessing_ over Gokudera's touch.

It happens, years later and Yamamoto can say the reality of it is nothing like what he's imagined. Gokudera does a lot with his hands; stays true to the Italian stereotype and even talks with his hands. What Yamamoto doesn't expect is how much Gokudera likes to touch him with those hands, subtle presses on his elbow; guiding, small pats on the shoulder or back in appreciation, soft caresses against his cheek when Gokudera's happy and firm grips to his ass when Gokudera's lonely. When they're alone, Yamamoto takes the time to kiss each knuckle and his palms and works his way to each finger. He takes every one into his mouth, loving the clacking sound of his teeth hitting metal as he sucks and licks and gently nips each finger tip. He sucks them like he'd suck Gokudera's cock; gentle, languidly and pouring every ounce of appreciation he can muster into the way he works his mouth over them. Gokudera watches him with bated breath, features pulled so delicately into a look of desire that would make Yamamoto come right then if he wanted to. There's no part of his body spared by the touch of Gokudera's hands when they fuck; his fingers rake down Yamamoto's back and brush against his skin just so, leaving trails of heat so hot Yamamoto feels like his flesh will spontaneously combust. When he's close, he entwines their fingers; locks their hands into place above Gokudera's head and Yamamoto grips them tightly when he comes. And after they're done, Gokudera falls asleep in Yamamoto's arms but their hands stay folded over Gokudera's heart, right where Yamamoto wants them to be.

Everything about Gokudera is fire and smoke and everything beautiful but what eludes him is that he _deserves_ the attention. Not just for him but for his hands too. The hands that can take a life as easily as they protect one, the hands that can be cruel and kind all at the same time. The hands that hold dangerous weapons but they also hold Yamamoto's heart and though Gokudera has tested its strength, he's never once broke it.


End file.
